


We Interrupt This Program

by Khal



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:16:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4908505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khal/pseuds/Khal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn wants Harry, Harry wants his bed, and a lot of outside forces just make things a bit more complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alnima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alnima/gifts).



> I chose this prompt and tried to incorporate aspects of the others. Really hope this kind of resembled what you were looking for. 
> 
> Also, I have the best beta(s) in the world. Thank you for being kind and patient. I pretty much just write bullet points and they bring the stuff together.

_Deep breaths. In and out._

Zayn takes one more look at himself in the bathroom mirror, brushing his eyebrows with his forefinger.

This isn't him. He’s not normally like this. Yeah, he's shy and awkward sometimes, but he’s rarely ever nervous. But tonight, he is...with every right to be. This feeling doesn’t even compare to that time he was back in Primary school and he had to prove that the theory of evolution starts with the Flying Spaghetti Monster. He smiles at himself because he thinks this is the palest he’s ever been. The butterflies in his stomach might as well be on fire.

He takes another deep breath, straightening out his shirt and messing with his product free hair. Just the way _he_ likes it.

He walks out of the bathroom and takes a quick look around, watching the rooms corner to corner as he makes his way through the small confines of his flat. Everything is neat and in its place, just the way they should be. He missed his last class just to make sure he had enough time to clean up and cook. Everything looks near perfect. The chicken is in the oven, alcohol chilling in the fridge, he asked Harry to pick up a few things on the way over and he can feel his heart in his mouth because he was due to show up any minute now.

This was the night. He’s sure of it. It's been exactly six months since they’ve started dating and if he has to wait another day without having Harry, he might snap. Six months of pent up sexual frustration. Six months of torture. Harry’s just so sweet and kind and Zayn wouldn’t dare trade it for the world, but how long do you need to date for the topic of sex to come up? He’s been aching for it. Dreaming of it. So everything has to go according to plan.

He’s messing with his hair again, staring off into space and using his other hand to pull at his earlobe.

His brain has him on the fritz. Jumping from thought to thought, contemplating the dinner he had been working on all night. He can’t leave the chicken in for much longer because it will get dry, he’ll put in the cake after dinner so they can decorate it together. It’s made with that organic unrefined sugar crap he knows Harry likes; plus it says gluten free on the box. Maybe he should have the table already set for when Harry gets here, maybe he should take the dog out now… _where is the dog?_

There’s a ring at the doorbell that startles Zayn and brings him back down to Earth.

“Coming.” He answers instinctively, his heavy Bradford accent cracking in the slightest. His heart moves and he can hear it thumping in his ears now. He brushes his hair down once more and checks his breath. He smells of Gummy Bears and the shot of peach Vodka he had earlier. It’s not his go-to drink but Harry loves it.

The door isn’t open for more than a second before he hears, "I do not miss this weather at all." The way he slowly drags out each word still makes Zayn laugh, it's reminiscent of honey pouring from a bottle. Harry is bunched up in his black leather jacket and furry hat, his nose and cheeks red from the London winter air.

Zayn flushes and suddenly his nerves are pricking at him all over again; not like they really stopped. Because Harry is the pinnacle of attractiveness and Zayn can stare at him forever. But it’s cold out so maybe this isn’t the time to do that.

Harry steps over the threshold and Zayn can see him better now, long brown hair spilling out of his hat, a hint of a mustache coming in, though he wouldn’t really call it that, the darker tint to his skin. Zayn doesn’t say anything…just drinks Harry in; every inch of him. The deep penetrating eyes. The pretty pink lips and wide smile that showed off dimples deep enough to make any girl flirt. He's gorgeous. Zayn took pride in knowing that that was all reserved for him and considered himself lucky.

"But you," Harry smirks down at him, "you I did miss." Zayn stretches up as Harry leans down until their lips meet and licks his way into Harry's mouth. His hands leveraging on Harry’s shoulders while he feels a pair of larger ones fitting effortlessly on his hips.

They kiss for ages and it’s like an electric current running through him, like it always is. Zayn rolls his hips forward until they meet Harry’s; unintentionally hinting what might be in store for later. Zayn helps him push off his coat while he mumbles about how it feels like forever since they last saw each other and tells him not to go for so long next time. Zayn doesn’t know what it is but Harry has a way of making him feel important, makes him feel wanted in a world that makes him think otherwise.

He believes in a higher power and something told him Harry was a Godsend. A person sent as some sort of anchor to constantly keep him grounded and secure. Harry acknowledged him for who he was, nothing less and nothing more. He embraced every rough edge and sharp corner with open arms and Zayn couldn’t have been more grateful.

Harry blushes when they’re done, eyes fixed on Zayn's dark and lovely ones. It was a language he and Harry were very familiar with, the eye contact that said so much while they said nothing at all. “Missed you,” he states softly, as if he’s saying it to himself rather than the person standing before him.

Before Zayn can respond, Harry’s out of the door again. "I bought the stuff you wanted," he tells him, grabbing the paper bags he left behind and hands them over before pulling off his beanie. "Got them just in time. Market was closing."

"Thanks for that." Zayn leads the way towards the kitchen and puts the items in their rightful place.  


He can hear Harry trailing behind rambling some incoherent nonsense about his stay in LA. He's even more nervous now that Harry is here. He puts two fingers to his neck just to confirm that his heart is beating as fast as he thinks it is.

"So this is why you wouldn't come for me." Harry says from the doorway, referring to the table set for two. Zayn shrugs apologetically.

Harry yawns and sits down, “M’so tired.”

Zayn frowns, setting a plate in front of him. That’s not what he wants to hear. Especially not when he’s been planning this day for about a week now. “Not too tired for tonight I hope.”

Harry cracks a lopsided grin, but there’s no way he could know that Zayn has something planned for them; because no one knows about them, and they don’t mind it that way. Not having to worry about what others think of the two of you. Not having everyone all in your business and gossiping about you. A relationship should just be about you and whomever you’re with; not the two of you and everyone else in the world. Harry taught him that.

The whip cream and assorted fruits Zayn told him to bring apparently weren’t enough of a clue as Harry still seems oblivious to everything. Harry doesn't mention anything about his hair or about the new cologne Zayn bought and it stumps him; because Harry's usually spot on about that kind of stuff.  


They sit across from each other and Zayn can see that Harry’s eyes are heavy lidded, dark circles rimming the skin around them.

Dinner starts with Zayn doing most of the eating and Harry slowly picking at his food. It makes him worry, wonder if the food isn’t as good as he hoped. Questioning whether or not he watched Food to Get You Laid for the past three weeks for nothing.

The rest of it goes quietly. Consisting of Zayn telling him about Uni and Harry mostly yawning every other minute. Or between every bad joke he made. Whichever came to his mind first. There were a few shared laughs even though they were sometimes forced. Zayn liked Harry prodding, trying to get him to understand his jokes. That’s what made Zayn smile the most, Harry pouting and getting angry when no one got what he was saying when he knew that they were gold and had been preparing them for a while. But Zayn goes easy on him this time. Chuckling and going along with it just so he can see Harry smile. The genuine brilliant ones that make him melt on sight. It was beautiful. The ones you need to see to believe in order to know they exist.

But in terms of the yawning, Zayn can feel himself losing already. Catching Harry in the act of falling asleep on the couch only to be told that he was just resting his eyes.

The soft clicking of paws against wood chimes through the apartment and Zayn knows it’s his dog.

"Hey there." Harry coos when Harley jumps in his lap, cuddling him the weird way he usually does. Like a drunk gentle giant holding a baby, "Where have you been?"

Eating my shoes probably, Zayn thinks to himself. "He probably needs to go out. I'll take him."

He gets up and gets the leash, a very excited pit bull following him out the door.

 

Like most dogs, Harley is just happy to be outside and takes his time exploring, much to Zayn’s dismay. Another dent in his plan. He has to beg his dog to poop somewhere so they can return to the warmth of his flat. If he had any control of the universe, he’d be on his knees in front of Harry by now.

Zayn has a knack for letting his mind wander and he does just that while his dog continues to be inconsiderate; thinking of Harry and all the things he wants to do to him.

All the pornos he watched with his mates back in school has prepared him for this moment. It wasn’t his first time but it might as well be. His first time with someone he cared about and someone who cared about him. It’s a nice thought that warms his face against the biting cold. Maybe he’ll bend over on all fours. That was a favorite in most of the videos. Some guy moaning like a proper slag while countless amount of men have their way with him. Maybe he’ll ride Harry on the chair in the living room, the one his dad gave him that rocked back and forth. He’s always wanted to try that. It looked fun and intimate, just the way he wanted. He wonders if Harry is open to rimming and hopes that he kind of is.

Zayn continues to fantasize, forgetting about the possibility of freezing to death as the heating in his stomach warms him enough. He thinks about Harry blindfolding him, tying him up, whispering filthy rubbish about all the things he was going to do. The biting. The sucking. The kissing. Kissing is Zayn’s number one favorite thing to do when Harry’s around. Even though Harry looks like someone who has no concept of how to even use their lips, Zayn’s felt what they can do and he knows what they’re capable of. Kissing Harry alone gets him hard so he can only imagine what they feel like on other places besides his neck and chest.

Zayn isn’t even aware of his surroundings until the distinct smell of dog shit fills his nostrils. His mind is cloudy and he’s bulging at the seams of his pants, the zipper practically chafing his skin through his briefs.

He doesn’t even worry about picking up after Harley as they both jog back to the apartment, while Zayn silently prays that Harry hasn’t fallen asleep.

When he walks in, he can hear talking. Zayn huffs a sigh of relief as he hangs up his jacket and rushes into the living room. He stops when he sees Harry standing, chatting with his neighbor Niall.

He already knows why he’s here.

Niall wasn’t the smartest guy on campus, but he managed to get by. Played for the school’s football team, dyed his hair every other month. Had a douchebag vibe about him. Zayn didn’t hang out with him much, they ran in different crowds and it was best that way. It didn’t go beyond a nod if they ever saw each other.

 

Early in the school year, Niall figured out the hazel-eyed artist nerd downstairs was trying to use his wifi and confronted Zayn in his own home, but the smell of Zayn’s parmesan crusted chicken hit him right in the stomach. Niall agreed to share his internet in exchange for a meal or two every week. Zayn took the deal seeing as he was already struggling with paying for school and bulk shopping at Tesco’s was a lot easier. When he was lazy, he often just heated whatever he found in the frozen foods section, seasoned it, and gave it to him; one pack costed him no more than a pound.

Harry saw Zayn first, quickly explaining that Niall said it was okay to let him in and that he made sure he wasn’t an axe murderer.

Zayn could see the red tint in Harry’s eyes and hear the change in his voice. He quickly ushered Niall to the back where he had a plate already set aside.

“What’s up with that guy? Haven’t seen him around before?” Niall blurts when they’re out of earshot, while he scans over at Zayn’s collection of shot glasses. One for every place he’s been. The crazier the better. But Niall can’t just look, he’s got to touch and probe and put stuff back out of order.

Zayn wants to tell him off because he does it every week and every week he has to explain that he hasn’t gone anywhere and that there are no new ones to see. “He’s a friend of mine. Just got back from the States,” he admits, handing him a cheap plastic container full of food that he knows he won’t get back so he doesn’t mind losing.

“Don’t wanna tell you who to hang out with, but I’d watch out for that one. He looks kind of - ” Zayn watches warily as Niall acts out what seems to be a woman. The most unattractive one he’s ever seen. Zayn knows what he’s getting at but he doesn’t let on.

He plays dumb, cocking his head to the side, “I don’t get it.” He walks Niall back out to the living room where Harry is still standing. Harry bids him a nice night and all Niall can muster is a short nod as Zayn closes the door behind him.

“Think I’m gonna go too, Z. It’s getting late,” Harry stretches out; his stomach tattoos peeking under the hem of his shirt.

Zayn bites his lip. Those were the other last words he didn’t want to hear. “Really? Cause I thought we could do something, yeah? Just you and me.” And the only other way to tell Harry that he is ready is just to come right out with it, but Zayn can’t bring himself to do it. He doesn’t have it in him and can’t risk the possibility of rejection. If Harry doesn’t get it, then he doesn’t get it.

In a final attempt to keep him, Zayn expresses his fear for sending Harry out on a 30 minute drive when he can barely keep his head up. Harry shoots back with his own reasons, saying that he’ll need to take a shower and change into something comfortable. Zayn telling him that he can borrow his clothes and take a shower. Harry responding that Zayn’s clothes are too tight even for Zayn, let alone on him.

And Zayn stops because they can go back and forth and he doesn’t know what other hints he can drop. Harry has to know. The only explanation is that he just doesn’t want to stay. Or maybe Harry isn’t ready and is being coy about it. Or he’s just not that into him, not in the way Zayn had hoped. So Zayn holds his tongue, not wanting to waste the effort if feelings aren’t going to be reciprocated.

“I’ll come by Sunday. Think I’ll see my mum tomorrow.”

Before Zayn can even get a word in edgewise, Harry gives him a chaste kiss on the lips and pulls on his jacket.


	2. Chapter 2

Ten minutes later and Harry’s at the door again. "Hey. Left my wallet." He calls out after wiping his foot before stepping in, knowing Zayn will have a proper fit if he tracks in mud. He’s surprised Zayn still keeps the spare key on top of the door frame especially since the last time he needed it, he had to scale the wall.

The smell of smoke hits him immediately.

He rushes into the kitchen and there's a cloud of smoke wafting from the oven. He opens it and the cake is blackened; cooked to a crisp if he didn’t know any better. It could pass as dark chocolate if it weren’t for the smell.

Harry takes it out with caution and sets it on the counter. He hadn't been dating Zayn long but he knows him enough and it's not like Zayn to leave something unattended, especially a stove.

His first instinct is to worry. He calls out for him a few times and searches the apartment until he sees the light seeping through the cracks of the bathroom door down the hall. Harley can’t be bothered as Harry passes the bedroom and sees the pup digging in the closet.

He can’t hear a thing as he presses his ear to the door. Without giving it much thought, he acts on instinct and barges in. The bathroom is steamy and it’s impossible to see anything at first. Not two seconds later and he can hear his name being yelled out.

“Harry! What are you doing here?” Zayn barks, standing in the middle of the tub and wrapping a towel around his torso. It’s not like Harry hasn’t seen those bits of him yet. They didn’t go further than teasing and handjobs, Harry giving them mostly.

He only stares briefly before he remembers the ‘right’ thing to do. He squeezes his eyes shut and covers them with his hands, “M’sorry. I came back from my wallet. There was smoke. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Though the bathroom smells of Zayn’s soap, he can make out the smell of burning cooking oil at the bottom of the oven. He stands glued to his spot as if his feet have been rooted to the ground. It’s when he makes a comment about leaving, that he feels wet hands grabbing at his wrists and pulling them down.

“What are you doing here?” Zayn asks him again. This time much more calmly.

“I told you. My wallet is-” Harry begins to explain, eyes pinching open to make sure Zayn is decent but he’s cut off before he can finish.

“Haven’t heard of knocking have you?”

“I was worried. Sorry. Wasn’t really thinking.”

It’s an awkward silence, one that can’t be filled so easily with mindless banter. Harry runs a hand through his frizzing hair. Zayn’s still wet, and makes no attempt to dry himself off. It’s a bit too much for him, but the best kind of distraction all the same. The goatee coming in on Zayn’s face, the water gliding down his skin, like looking at a cold drink on a hot day. Harry's dick has been tucked under his waistband the entire night and he can feel it straining. He doesn’t know how much longer he can keep any of this up; _the nice guy who waits for complete and total consent._ He refuses to be that guy, but Zayn wasn't making it easy. All night, he had his hair down in that soft way Harry liked that was always nice to the touch, and he was wearing the new Calvin Klein cologne that acted as anaphrodisiac. 

He needs a wank, having been interrupted when he got back into the car and realized his wallet wasn't in his pocket.

“I’m going to go now,” Harry mutters robotically, turning on his heels.

“Is there a reason you haven’t tried anything with me yet, Haz?” Zayn croaks out behind him.

It stops Harry right where he stands, obviously stunned by the question. He turns back and gapes at Zayn, trying to figure out how to answer.

“Is it me or something?” Zayn adds, eyes boring something fierce. It gives Harry cotton mouth immediately and he can feel the increasing speed of his heart rate.

He doesn’t hesitate to answer when Zayn asks that. “No babe. Course not.” He steps forward, alert and tentative. Hands finding their place on Zayn’s toweled hips.

“What is it then? S’it the way I look?” And that crushes Harry a bit because he knows Zayn has self image issues. Is always worried about the way he looks and how others see him. He wants to tell Zayn to stop being so stupid. To open his eyes and look in the mirror for fucks sake because he’s a piece of art. A living masterpiece that da Vinci himself couldn’t dream of, but Harry’s a firm believer in the saying, ‘Actions speak louder than words.’ So he holds him instead, circling his arms around Zayn’s tiny figure, lips tight against his jaw; smelling of the Old Spice Shower gel Zayn constantly bought and Harry learned to love. It wasn’t like his, fruity and gentle. It was much more powerful. Manly. It suited him well.

His heart tugs a little when he feels slender arms hold him back, one hand curling at the back of his neck and scratching at the skin that was there.

“No, Zayn. It’s not that. You’re the fittest person I know.” He answers quietly between collarbone kisses.  
And that’s not a lie. Harry goes to Los Angeles a lot. It’s like his second home. It’s supposed to be known for its great weather and the attractive people, but Zayn is more than a pretty face. He’s smart, and sweet. Yeah, he’s good looking, but he’s not arrogant about it because he’s oblivious to the fact that he is indeed handsome. LA people know they’re hot, which is why Harry can’t really get on with them. They’re good company but not much good for anything else.

“Then what?” Zayn asks just as soft.

Harry bites his lip before picking his head back up. Zayn’s soft, dough-like eyes fixed on his. He’s got to go for broke now if he doesn’t want to lose him. "Listen, Z. I just want to take things slow.” He shrugs and he’s pretty sure his heart is beating outside of his chest. “You're the only person I've ever spent this much time and effort on.” Harry mumbles in his low, raspy, suddenly not so tired voice. “You mean a lot to me and I really don’t wanna fuck this up. Ya know?” Harry exhales it as if he’s been holding it in his entire life. Cheeks flushed and ears burning from nerves.

Zayn nods after much consideration and it doesn’t really put Harry’s mind at ease. _Is he nodding because he understands, or is he nodding because he’s two seconds from telling me off?_

Harry feels the hand on the back of his neck tightening and pulling him down. He closes his eyes in preparation for what he knows is about to come next and he kisses Zayn back, slowly and gently. There’s a calmness to it. Like he’s asking for permission or waiting on instructions of what to do.

But calm isn’t Zayn’s thing. Soon he’s licking at Harry’s lip, trying to get in. His hands were everywhere at once.

It doesn’t take long before Harry is being pushed against the sink counter, hips pressed up against one another.

Nothing but soft moans leave their mouths. Lots of roaming hands and curious fingers. Zayn using his forefinger to play along the waistband of Harry’s pants and underwear. Then Zayn’s hands travel higher, feeling the skin under Harry’s shirt, grazing over the trail of hair.

Harry pulls away first, batting the thick air around them, practically suffocating from the fog despite the door being open. It’s Zayn that suggests they should move somewhere comfortable, tugging at the loophole of Harry’s jeans, leading him out and towards the bedroom.

They stumble onto the bed with their legs hanging off the edge. Zayn’s under him with the towel still very much in place. Zayn pulls at his shirt as if it will magically come off that way.

“We’ve got time. Let’s not rush this.” Harry whispers hot in his ear, pinning Zayn’s hands on either side of his head, kissing him under his chin. He mumbles a low warning to Zayn about keeping his arms there and not moving. He feels Zayn shudder, silent groans in the back of his throat. Harry unravels the towel, sighing when he gets his hand around him, thumb running over the bit of come covering the tip. He flicks his wrist and tugs and Harry might lose it. His own dick choking in his skinny jeans and nearly numb.

When he unzips, he feels the vibrating in his pocket and the low ring of Kylie Minogue playing and he knows exactly whose tone that is and pulls out his phone.

Harry groans quietly. "Shit. It's my mum." He missed her call already earlier in the day. He would let it go to message but he knows he’ll face hell if he doesn’t answer it this time.

Zayn’s too busy waiting and wiggling to care so Harry didn’t think he would mind as the next word left his mouth. "Mum?"

Anne could be heard yelling about Harry coming home without telling her nor his sister.

Harry settles on his knees between Zayn’s legs to take off his boots. "That's the point of a surprise mum," He huffs out. His breath hitting Zayn's erection and easing out a reflexive twitch and a stifled moan. Harry notices and smirks, taking Zayn in his hand again and pumping him slowly as he continues to talk to his mother.

Anne goes on. Telling him about her day and her plans for the next.

Harry can’t be bothered to listen despite his efforts. Zayn’s bucking his hips into his hand and it’s so nice to finally have him this way. To see Zayn like this.

It’s too much and Harry’s mouth is on his cock, taking Zayn to the back of his throat. It elicits the nicest string of curse words he’s ever been graced with. Zayn can’t keep his hips pinned to the bed, arching up to push past Harry’s lips.

Harry gets bolder, hungrier. Zayn in one ear, his mum in the other.

“Been wanting your mouth for a while,” he hears in his left ear from Zayn.

"What are you eating, love? Eating healthy?" he hears in his right.

It makes his cheeks go pink. That the woman who gave him life can hear him giving it to someone else. He knows Zayn can probably hear her too with how loud she’s being and doesn’t know whether to feel embarrassed or turned on.

"It's more of a dessert," Harry confesses, sliding Zayn all the way into his mouth until his nose is buried in his neatly trimmed pubes. Out again, then back; demonstrating his lack of a gag reflex.

"Sounds more like soup." Then Anne shouts at him for filling up on junk when they were supposed to be taking the healthy route together. No sugar. No carbs. No fruits or vegetables that have been processed and packaged.

The next thing he knows, he’s slapped in the ear hard enough that it stings and he stops everything. Zayn is propped up on his elbows, looking down at him with a tense, glossy look in his eyes. “Get off the phone.” It was made to be a whisper but it comes out a lot harsher.

Harry cocks an eyebrow, giving Zayn a look that isn’t too pleasant; his ear hot.

He stops his mom before she starts talking about the errands she wants him to run and promises to come by tomorrow. He clicks off as soon as the word ‘bye’ leaves his mouth.

He pulls off his shirt in record time and straddles Zayn just as fast. “You are getting way too into this,” Harry growls, biting at Zayn’s wet lower lip and pinning his arms down again. “What do you want?” he asks, watching Zayn’s chest rise and fall. He stares at the red ink in the center and he’s seen it so many times before and each time he gets a little more jealous. He doesn’t know whose lips are those on Zayn’s chest and he never asked because he doesn’t want an answer, but he always wished they were his, pretended that they were.

Zayn doesn’t answer for a while and Harry wonders if he’s even heard the question. “Fuck me." Zayn whispers, sounding completely wrecked. Like they’ve been at this for hours and he’s way too close.

"No foreplay?" Harry asks, looking like a petulant child.

"Not tonight."

Harry smiles, pulling down his briefs with one hand while the other keeps him up. Zayn obliges, helping him get them down.

Zayn gets a hand on him when it’s off and Harry realizes it’s the first time he’s ever touched it bare. He smoothes his hands over Zayn's chest, rubbing higher until his fingers reach the stubble bordering his neck. He likes the way it feels, a little soft but still a bit prickly. Zayn takes his free hand and leads Harry's straying fingers to his mouth. Harry watches him kiss the pads of each digit, then around to the knuckles, kissing over those as well. He mouth goes dry when Zayn sucks one into his mouth, the pointer. He feels Zayn swirl his tongue and the slight catch of teeth. He adds the middle finger and Harry watches in utter fixation. Zayn makes a show of it without trying, his cheeks hollow out and his beard makes it all the more sexy; the pull of his lips and the way he bobs his head as if this were all in slow motion. His eyes closed, his hair still damp from his shower and possibly sweat now. It's a demonstration, Zayn showing him what his mouth can do and planning to return the favor. Harry hopes he's not getting ahead of himself; pretty lips around his cock with Zayn's stubble rubbing against him because he's always been vocal about liking the facial hair. Makes Zayn look more manly, gives him a rugged kind of country look. 

The hand jacking him without any lube starts to pick up the pace and Harry can practically see his orgasm. He bats it away and can’t even hold himself up, pulling his fingers gently out of Zayn's mouth and relaxing most of his weight on him. “Lube? Condom?” Harry groans in Zayn’s shoulder.

“First drawer there.”

Harry finds the strength to reach over to the nightstand and pull the handle. When his hands roam aimlessly inside it, they run along a funny feeling thing. He pulls out a dildo and it’s angry looking with veins and a vibrating sensor. Harry pulls it out with a stiff pout, "Why this and not me, hmm?"

Zayn parts his eyes enough to see what Harry is referring to and closes them again almost instantly. "You were never around."

Harry frowns at that. At all the possible moments his boyfriend needed him and he had never been there to satisfy him. He suddenly washes with pride when he realizes that Zayn's most likely been faithful and hasn't been with anyone else when Harry leaves for days and days at a time. Buys sex toys to keep him company. It makes him happy. Knowing that temptation is a thing especially when Zayn is so attractive and can have any guy he wants.

"Should we use this?"

Zayn quickly shakes his head. "No. Want the real thing."

Harry fidgets with the buttons on it and hums. "Batteries don't even work. You wore it out."

He puts the obscene rubber object back in its place and sits back on his haunches. Harry unsnaps the cap and eases some lube onto the same two fingers. It says banana flavored and he thinks he might have way too much fun with it in the future. He lines it up and slowly pushes a finger in, sending Zayn into a fit of cries as he curls his toes. Harry adds another and one more for good measure, scissoring Zayn open. "Do you think of me?"

Zayn sucks his lip between his teeth. "Always."

Harry smiles so hard he feels the slight tear in his bottom lip from where it had gotten too dry. He rips the condom with his teeth then slides it on. He thinks of Zayn too. Mostly in the daytime when he's out and about and he sees an inconsiderate couple making out like they eat tongue for a living. He’d hope that they’d be like that someday, though they probably won’t. It’s for the best. They both value their privacy. They don’t need people gawking at them whenever they make the conscious decision to hold hands. That happened once and it was like they were on display at a freak show. He doesn’t mind it, that’s the kind of world they live in unfortunately, but he knows how much Zayn hates it; being looked down at as if he’s under a microscope. So he’s not selfish about it; doesn’t mind hiding out in Zayn’s cramped, little apartment watching Netflix and eating ice cream out of the carton. The world isn’t quite ready for them yet. Until then, he gets along fine with just kissing Zayn in the privacy of their own universe

"M'what about me?" Zayn asks, voice strained and labored.

Harry doesn’t have a vibrator though he’s thought about getting one. He’s had his eye on a black one he saw when he was on vacation. It was expensive but it was adjustable, and the box said, ‘it would be the only one you would ever need for the rest of your life.’ It definitely looked the part.

He puts two-and-two together and finally gets what Zayn is asking. "All the time," he admits quietly, leaning over to kiss him quickly.

Harry nudges his nose to Zayn's. “I’m going to start now. Tell me if you want me to stop.”

Zayn doesn't look worried, hooking his arms under the caps of his knees with natural grace.

Harry pushes in and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think they both came upon entry. He hadn’t been with a lot of people, guys in particular, but he liked the way Zayn felt. Like a fitted glove made just for him. His hips start to work for themselves in a matter of seconds, the squeaking of the cheap mattress below them makes itself known. His head tells him to be gentle, but the rest of his body doesn't agree. Zayn isn't going to break, he's not fine china. He feels Zayn’s nails digging into the grooves of his back, scratching over the muscles and it eggs him on.

Zayn exhales heavily, mouth hanging open with his eyelashes fanned over his cheekbones and Harry couldn't be more turned on. Propped up on his forearms and looking at Zayn’s flushed face. His lips glide over Zayn's ear and he begins to nip and tug at that as well. "Fuck, you look so beautiful, Z. Like this."

In the few months that they have known each other, this is probably the most vulnerable he's ever seen him. He’s usually quiet but when he’s crossed, no one would dare to mess with him. Strong, bold Zayn who wears his heart on his sleeve but could kill you with his words. He can hold his own, Harry knows that, but there’s something about him when they’re alone and all his walls come down.

“You put your guard down when you’re with me. Only for me, huh?” Harry whispers to himself but he knows Zayn’s heard it when his eyes fly open and there's that eye contact again, speaking the unspeakable.

It’s more of a rhetorical question and he gives a sharp thrust, cutting Zayn off from whatever he might potentially say. Then another. And another, strategically timed seconds apart.

Zayn’s back arches. “Ow fuck. Harry. Fuck.”

Minutes later and after a short bit of Harry slowing down and speeding up just to keep Zayn suspended, he found himself picking up momentum and keeping up with it. He couldn't hold it off any longer. He was close to the edge, the muscles in his arse and hips moving desperately.

The annoying vibrating of Zayn’s phone is constantly going off on the nightstand and the buzzing is driving Harry insane. It’s gone off before and Zayn mentioned it but Harry didn’t notice. Now he hears it at the worst possible time.

Harry stops, chest to chest and lying with his face turned into Zayn’s neck. Forehead sweaty and curls in his eyes. “Do you want to get that?” he croaks, exasperated.

“No. Let it go through. Let’s finish.”

By the third time, Harry’s had enough. “It’s getting annoying,” he groans, reaching over to grab Zayn’s phone. He hasn’t upgraded yet. Still has an iPhone 4 even though Harry offered to get him one from the States since it was cheaper there. Zayn says it’s because he likes the way they fit in his jeans easily. That Harry needs the latest version because they fit his alien hands perfectly.

Harry slides right, but not before getting a look at the name, because it would suck if Zayn’s mum was calling too. _Mums just have a way of knowing when something was up._

As soon as he the phone reaches his ear, he hears someone on the other end. “Hello?”

“He’s busy.” Harry breathes out messily before hanging up, making sure whoever was on the other side knew exactly what they were doing. He turns off the phone and tosses it behind him.

Harry assumes his position once more, biting Zayn’s neck accompanied by a sharp pound, “Who’s Liam?”

“What?” Zayn gasps, eyes screwed shut because Harry intended on that one being painful.

“Who’s Liam? That was him. You’ve got 5 missed calls.”

Zayn was making the cutest sounds as Harry continued to fuck him. It sent shivers up his spine. The bed knocking against the wall at every push. Zayn didn’t answer him at all. Just continued to moan his name and wrap his legs around Harry’s waist.

“Who is he, babe?” Harry repeats now moving at an agonizingly slow pace.

And Zayn didn’t like that one bit, Harry saw it in the way his face scrunched up into a frown. “He’s just a friend. From school. We have the same class.” Zayn manages to get out.

Harry doesn’t know if he buys it. He sits up and traces a circle around Zayn’s nipple until it hardens. “You wouldn’t lie to me would you, babe?”

Harry knew what that did to him, that last word. Understood what kind of power he had over Zayn. They talked about it once before, when it was two in the morning and their relationship was still fairly new. He told Harry he loved it when he called him ‘baby ‘and ‘sweetheart.’ It threw Harry off a bit because Zayn didn’t seem like the type to be into that sort of thing but he didn’t question it, because he loved saying it otherwise.

Zayn shakes his head to the point where it might snap. “No. I’m yours, Harry.”

That was new. New in the sense that Harry’s never heard something like that before. Not with anyone he’s been with. He’s sold on the fact that Zayn knows just what to say despite not having done it with him before. “Say that again.”

Zayn looks right at him. “I’m yours, Haz. Only you.”

Harry might combust from that alone. And he does, bottoming out with ‘Oh, fuck’ being the last thing to leave his lips. He stays grounded until Zayn follows him right after, painting both their chests in come.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zayn wants Harry, Harry wants his bed, and things get complicated somewhere in the middle.

Zayn's eyes focus on the fan spinning above them. If you concentrate hard enough on a single blade, it almost looks like it's slowing down. The sheen of sweat cools on their skin and the breeze is all too welcome with the faint smell of sex in the air.

“You good?” Harry asks when he comes to, finger running along Zayn’s jaw.

Zayn stretches his arms out above him, from his fingers to his toes, basking in the aftershocks that were finally passing through, batting his eyes open to focus. “Mhmm.” It was getting cold in the room but Zayn’s never felt so warm. He needs a cigarette but his body won’t respond, not even for that.

He’s waited so long and it’s finally happened; it makes it hard to think. It was everything he imagined it to be; the best shag he's had in ages, better than anyone he’s been with he thinks. His eyes flutter as his breathing comes back to normal.

He’s near sleep when he hears, “Was that uhm, was I okay?” It’s asked so quietly it sounds distant but Zayn finds it all the more adorable. He turns his side to find Harry staring, with a nervous look to him. The condom's gone and he looks just as sleepy as he did when he first walked in the flat.

It’s funny, in a way. Harry isn’t the type to seem self conscious about anything he does but here he is, looking quite the part. “It was really good,” Zayn answers shyly, biting the inside of his cheek. Harry smiles too, that sincere one he does when he’s genuinely happy, where his dimples dent and are out for everyone to see. It’s definitely Zayn’s favorite look; makes his heart beat ten times faster when he’s in the presence of it.

“Let’s cuddle.” Harry demands, scooting closer till he’s wrapped around Zayn like an octopus, one leg slotted between Zayn’s thighs. It’s nice the way Harry holds him. It reminds Zayn of the way he used to hold his teddy bear when he was younger and sometimes when he's feeling homesick. Like Harry won’t let go. It makes him feel warm, comforted. His insides flip a little, the butterflies still buzzing.

Harry presses his lips lazily to Zayn’s cheeks and touches him softly below the sheets, because Harry’s definition of cuddling is slow makeout sessions until they both fall asleep.

And that’s exactly what they do. Until the sound of the dog scratching at the door for who knows how long prompts Zayn to get up.

 

 

The next morning, Zayn is impossibly sore, something he thought he wouldn’t have to deal with. He prepped himself before Harry got there last night and now he’s wincing with every step he takes. His neck is aching, from sleeping in an awkward position and the numerous amounts of marks Harry left on him, the purplish-blue color really popping against his skin. He revels in the fact that he can easily cover them up with jumpers and scarfs, thankful that it wasn't summer.

He stands over the waffle iron in only his boxers, waiting for one to finish. His sisters collectively got together and bought the gadget for him when he left for Uni and it’s become quite handy.

He remembers that he was supposed to call his mum last night and decides that now is as good a time as any. He puts it on speaker and waits for her to answer.

“So much for taking it slow.” Harry walks in, carrying the dog close to his chest that weird way he normally does. His face is stuck in that grumpy phase that most people deal with when they first wake up, furrowed eyebrows, a sleepy frown. His curls are in standard bed-head fashion or it could be sex hair. He probably hasn’t touched it since he’s gotten up.

“Smells good.” Harry makes a point of waiting for Zayn to turn and kiss him before sitting around the table with Harley. Zayn can smell the hint of mint on his mouth.

And as if Harry could read minds, “I hope you don’t mind. Used your toothbrush. Should really think about getting one for me.” Zayn would do that but Harry’s never at his flat for more than two days.

“Could’ve just used the mouthwash,” Zayn smirks, waiting for the green light to tell him his food is ready.

“Yeah, but then my mouth wouldn’t really be clean would it?”

Neither of them have to look at each other to know that the other is smiling and they leave it at that.

The call to his mum goes unanswered and he ponders on whether or not he should try again. Harry speaks up as he taps away on his phone. “D’you wanna go out for dinner later?”

“Geez, you’re already talking about dinner when we haven’t even had breakfast yet.”

Harry chuckles while Zayn plates a waffle and slices a banana in half. He should probably be thinking about what he’s going to have for dinner since it’s nearly three in the afternoon.

“I’m going to see my mum today, remember? Do you want to come and meet her?” Harry tells him, dragging Zayn away from contemplating a simple chicken salad.

He raises an eyebrow. “Wasn’t it you that said if you have something good going on, don’t tell anyone?” It was also Harry that gave him an intense conversation about not coming out when they first started dating. Saying that he didn’t feel the need to come out because no one came out about anything else. No one dreads coming out over being straight. No one needs to come out about being Asian. You just are. That’s how Harry saw it and Zayn knew right away they were going to be doing this at their own pace, thankfully.

Harry lets the dog go and helps Zayn out, who seems to struggle with getting the skin off a too mushy avocado. “I know. But she’s my mum and I really want her to see you. Think it’s time.”

Zayn agrees to it, because the way Harry talks about his mum gives him no reason to think she’ll make a big deal about them. Harry always gushes about her and how amazing she is.

"You're going to need something to cover those up." Zayn points his chin to the skin around Harry's collarbones, the few bruises just slightly brighter than his. The light red rashes over his chest and shoulders from what Zayn knows was probably his beard. "Can't wear those low-cut things you love so much."

Harry shrugs and his optimism drives Zayn to call his mum again, just for the hell of it. He sets the phone down on the counter next to him, putting it on speaker once more. Harry stands next to him as he waits. “Everything smells really good,” he remarks with a lingering hand down Zayn’s arse, kissing at his shoulder.

“Stop.” Zayn scolds playfully, thankful Harry doesn’t listen and continues. "You know. I read if you’re with someone who forces you to do stuff in the bedroom, it's only right to make them demonstrate and do it first." The words are out before he’s even properly assessed what he's said. Zayn's not sure where he’s going with it, considering he has a dildo and had it up his arse just two days ago, but he waits for something good to come out of Harry’s mouth.

"I didn't force you did I?" Harry asks sincerely bending to nip at Zayn’s collarbone, being quite the distraction as he tries not to burn another meal. There's a hint of teasing there. Harry had asked oh so sweetly what Zayn wanted before they got as far as they did and Zayn didn't even hesitate to answer.

"Well, no. But, s’not fair to assume I’m a bottom just because I’m smaller than you.” It's the quickest excuse he could think of.

Harry edges behind him and gently plants wet kisses at the tattoo on Zayn’s upper back. “So you didn’t like it?”

Zayn can feel him smirk and he tilts his head back until it rests on Harry’s shoulder “I didn’t say that. M’just saying. It’s rude.”

Harry draws lazy patterns across Zayn’s sides, breath hitching in his throat. “Cos the way you were bossing me around sure sounded like you enjoyed it. Harder, Harry. Faster, Harry.” He mimics the last few words in a thick accent and it makes Zayn’s ears heat in humiliation. If he was really that loud, the neighbors definitely know he’s gay now. He can feel Harry’s hard-on pressing against his thigh through the thin cotton material.

Harry pats him until his shoulders fall, no doubt sensing his tension. “Relax babe. One day you can fuck me. All you have to do is ask.” He breathes against his ear, teeth grazing at the lobe. Zayn blushes, knowing that Harry is open to the type of intimacy. He listens as Harry continues, peppering a path of kisses on his neck. “Pull my hair. Rough me up. Make me beg for it.”

Zayn can feel him, rutting against the curve of his arse. His legs almost gives out when Harry whispers, "Make a proper man out of me, Z."

The thought of it makes Zayn purr as he mentally checks another fantasy off his list. He’s not aware of the small voice saying, “Hello,” through the phone still on the counter top.

Zayn snatches it so quickly it almost falls and takes it off speaker. He pushes Harry away who's trying to stifle his laughter with his lip trapped between his teeth, a hand adjusting himself.

“Hey, mum.” Zayn’s grateful that the first words out of his mother's mouth are instructing him to speak up because she can’t hear a thing with his sister’s music blaring.

In the course of his conversation, Harry rummages through his refrigerator and puts the kettle on for tea. It’s different. Harry’s been over for breakfast but has never been there to help make it. It makes Zayn smile because he doesn't think he's ever been so enamored with a person so quickly. He'd done his fair share of dating and he's definitely sure he's never fallen this hard so fast over someone before.

“Did you hear me, Zayn?” His mum asks, pulling him out of his ruminations.

“Huh?”

“Was the movie alright?"

Zayn vaguely remembers telling his mum about his Friday night plans earlier in the week and lied about seeing the new Vin Diesel movie.

He makes something up. "It wasn't that good. Could've been better." As soon as the words leave his mouth, he sees Harry perk up and look at him with dangerous eyes and an amused smile. He's not even aware of the cryptic joke he's made until it registers and he understands immediately; the innuendo he inexplicably made and his cheeks are burning all over again.

Two more waffles later, he’s off the phone and Harry’s standing in front of him with a look that says he wants attention. “Babe, m’ not hungry,” he admits, fingers laced in front of him. "Not for food anyway."

‘ _What do you mean you’re not hungry?_ ’ Zayn fixes to ask but Harry’s got his mouth open before he can.

“I don’t usually eat first thing in the morning,” he smirks, stepping closer until their noses brush against one another. "Besides. You promised to ride me into the bed." Harry reaches over and turns off the stove, taking the phone out of Zayn’s hands and setting it on the counter. He rubs Zayn’s shoulders up and down before turning him in the direction of the bedroom.

“That’s not my fault. You had me on my back all night."

Harry's hands drift to Zayn's torso. "I know. I know, but I bought strawberries and cream like you asked. We should at least put them to good use.” Zayn can hear the smile behind his words.

It’s not like they weren’t going to use them for breakfast, but he goes compliantly as Harry pushes him towards the room. He then realizes that he doesn’t need to be in control of the universe. Things end up working in his favor at some point or another.


End file.
